


The Games We Play

by orphan_account



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: A different take on the Underfell bro's relationship, Alternate Universe - Underfell, Ecto-Genitalia, Ecto-Tongue, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 08:42:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6277561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a game they played. A facade they enacted when in public. When the door closed behind them, things could be different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Games We Play

**Author's Note:**

> Somebody (I can't find your name, so sorry) requested NSFW with underfell Papyrus. Seeing as that left many options open, I decided to go for fontcest of course.
> 
> I see too many fics where their relationship seems to be abusive/controlling, and while I don't mind that, I wanted to try a different take.

This is the game they play. The roles they take on in front of others.

Snapping and cursing, harsh looks and harsher words. Anyone who saw them would assume they hated each other, loathed each other.

And in a way, it wouldn't be far from the truth.

In their world, it's kill or be killed. Every monster is walking the edge, day after day, risking their life by simply leaving the relative safety of their home.

Around every corner there is something or someone willing to destroy you, and trust is a rather fickle thing to come by.

So yes, maybe in a way they hated each other. Because somehow, somewhere there was something in their relationship that resembled trust, maybe even more. Protectiveness... Worry... Love.

And not the kind of LOVE you were supposed to gather in this world.

Papyrus calls him weak, worthless. He looks at Sans with a blazing hate as if he was no more than dirt under his shoes.

Sans retorts, as is expected of him, with a scoff and a curse, calling his brother out on his inability to make it to the top of the royal guard, like he so desires.

And the inhabitants of Snowdin watch and wait and wouldn't be surprised to wake up one morning to find one of the skeleton brothers had killed their sibling overnight.

Which, to be perfectly fair, almost happens on several occasions. For all the unusual compassion they share, there is still plenty of impatience and irritation to go around.

Just not as much as outsiders assume.

That is the game they play. The act they have perfected over time.

But when the door closes behind them after a long day of patrolling and fighting and (occasionally) killing, something else happens.

Sans finds himself being pushed against said door, his younger brother easily towering over him and locking him in place completely. There are hands pulling on his vest and sharp teeth grazing his neck bone, making him gasp in surprise.

His hands clench around his brother's shoulder guards, grounding himself and relishing in the pain of sharp spikes against his palms.

Within minutes, they are both naked, not even having the decency to make it to the bedroom, instead opting for the lumpy green couch occupying their living room.

Sans reaches and strokes any part of his brother he can get his boney little hands on, enjoying the way the normally so vocal Papyrus tries hard to suppress pleasurable hisses and moans at the touches.

Their teeth bump together in the skeleton variant of a kiss, eager and slightly clumsy, as both are already panting hard, their magic hurrying to make appendages to make this even more enjoyable.

Suddenly, Sans feels his wrists grabbed and shoved upwards, held captive by an iron grip as an orange tongue peeks out to lick at his collarbone, making him shiver.

Papyrus whispers something, than goes in for another taste. This process repeats over and over, until Sans is hardly more than a squirmy mass of need barely able to move.

It's a tradition, Papyrus's way of apologizing for every hateful word spoken over the course of the day. A lick and a praise.

"You're strong. You're hot. I've been waiting for this moment all day."

Things Sans didn't know he needed to hear until he did, and now it was the only thing getting him through the day.

Then Papyrus is satisfied with his handiwork, Sans pliant and bright red beneath him, and that's where the tenderness ends.

The taller skeleton flips him over, roughly shoving him face first into the couch cushions, and Sans feels a long heated member find it's way inside the small hole at the bottom of his pelvis, barely big enough to fit it's orange girth.

He hisses in pain, the burn almost more than he can take. But Papyrus likes it rough, thrusting in and out at a fast pace in no way intended to give his shorter brother comfort.

Sans loves it.

The burn only elevates the pleasure, making both seem sharper somehow. He grunts and moans, refraining from biting into the sofa to muffle his desperate sounds. Papyrus likes to hear him scream.

The friction against his cock, trapped between the cloth surface of the couch and his own body, borders the unbearable, but his wrists are still held tight, preventing him from doing anything to relieve the pressure building up in his pelvis and creeping it's way up his spine. It was pure torture, and Sans was savoring every second of it.

He knew Papyrus was close when he felt a gloved hand wrap around his member, stroking in time with those delicious thrusts, urging him towards climax.

A sudden heat splashes inside his ribcage, the sharp pain of his brother sinking his teeth into his right shoulder as he cums and Sans feels himself tip over, blue colored release staining their couch.

The two brothers stay there for a moment, panting despite not needing to breath under normal circumstances, the room heavy with scattered magic.

After a few moments they would get up and go about their business.

Such was the game they played, pretending their desire and lust for each other was just that.

A compulsion. A physical need that just as well could be experienced with anyone else.

Neither was quite ready to face the alternative.

And maybe later that night, when Sans wouldn't be able to sleep, he would sneak into his brother's room and climb on top of him, waking him with gentle nuzzles and tender hands.

He would touch his forehead to Papyrus's skull, as he slides deep into him, relishing in the almost meek whines his brother would let slip, begging him to start moving already.

And Sans would, ever so slowly, careful not to inflict pain for a change, finally feeling like he can be in control of something.

Maybe they both needed this. This tender, comforting way of assuring each other, as much as they needed the desperate, passionate variant.

When they were finished, Sans would quietly slip back to his room, finding he was now able to sleep in peace.

Not a word was breathed the following morning, as if nothing ever happened.

But if there was slightly more Lasagna on Sans's plate than usual, so be it.

Or if that dirty sock littering the living room for weeks on end now, finally found it's way into the laundry, it would be a coincidence.

Such was the game they played. Such were the rules.

And for once in their lives, they could both feel like they won at something.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a kudo/comment if you enjoyed.
> 
> Still taking requests, both SFW and NSFW!


End file.
